


Silience

by Ultirex



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: AU elements for the sake of self indulgence, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, minor Knock Out/Breakdown
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2020-09-19 03:07:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20324062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ultirex/pseuds/Ultirex
Summary: [Reposted and Revised] To appease the neutrals and maintain power and stability in a post-war society, Starscream enlists the help of Wheeljack in bringing the two former factions together. All it takes is a little white lie and some clever acting on both their parts.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Red, whose support kept this going and who made this possible.
> 
> Silience (noun): The kind of unnoticed excellence that carries on around you every day, unremarkably.

“We need to talk.” 

Windblade announced her presence without any further ceremony. She did not bow nor offer any words of deference as she entered Starscream’s office - _without_ any sort of prior arrangement, Starscream would surely make a point to remind her - and while it was typical behavior for the Camien her lack of respect never failed to leave Starscream’s wings carrying even more tension than usual. 

A fellow flight-frame, Windblade was adept at recognizing that telltale sign of irritation and decoding the language of Starscream’s body in ways she never could his words. It only spurred on her small yet rebellious acts of insubordination against a leader who seemed to expect obeisance from his title alone.

“It’s important,” she continued, already anticipating his objection. She walked boldly forward to take a seat opposite him, but she faltered in her execution when she sat down just a little too quickly. 

For the brave face that she put on she never could manage to quell every possible sign of weakness in front of her adversary. She was well aware that Starscream took careful note of every slip-up. 

“You don’t have an appointment,” Starscream said. His tone dripped with a cynicism that told Windblade he was already expecting the worst. “And the next council meeting isn’t for another three days.”

Windblade sat up a little straighter. The chair creaked, as if weak in its resolve. “I know. And I do apologize for coming unannounced.”

Wrong move, she knew. Windblade could tell that Starscream was prepared to pounce on that apology, use it to needle her into submission and have her leave with a sheepish promise not to do it again. So she was quick to add, “But this isn’t something we can afford to ignore.”

She cast a cursory glance at Starscream’s desk, noting the piles of datapads that were already strewn across it before adding another with a slight pang of sympathy. 

Rattrap had mentioned Starscream’s workload when he half-heartedly attempted to stop her entry, yet she’d dismissed his weak protestations. Being a leader required that someone be able to burden such responsibilities, Windblade had rationalized, but being confronted with the weary lines beneath Starscream’s optics did have her determination to keep a firm hand on the situation wavering. 

“There was another incident last night,” she said. “Worse than the last one. Things are escalating, Starscream. The clinic in south Iacon isn’t equipped with the supplies or personnel to deal with this nearly every day.”

Starscream’s lip curled with disdain as he regarded the additional work she’d hoisted upon him. She was expecting him to stash it away among his imposing pile of reports and policy proposals with a half-hearted promise to get to it later, but to her surprise and delight he dragged the datapad closer with a talon and began to scroll through it. 

“A drunken brawl,” Starscream concluded after a quiet moment of consideration. He was flippant, aggravatingly so, as he pushed the news report back in her direction. “Nothing unusual when most of the weaker-willed ‘bots find engex to be the only way to cope with things.” 

“It was a factional dispute,” Windblade insisted as her normally abundant patience began to wear thin. “Just as the last several were, and the next ones will be if something isn’t done. You can’t ignore that the peace we’ve worked for is fragile at best.”

“_We_,” Starscream sneered. When he leaned forward, Windblade instinctively leaned back. “Let’s not forget who created a unified Cybertron and who only came back after pissing off for the entirety of a civil war.”

Windblade’s hands clenched where they rested against her thighs. “This isn’t the time to argue over that. But if you’re going to preach about unity then the least you can do is acknowledge that we need to do a better job of building it.”

She gave a troubled glance at the datapad, finding its contents far less easy to cast aside than Starscream just had. They were a resilient species, always had been, but they also possessed an unparalleled ability to sabotage their own survival. How long before the headline of ‘Six Wounded’ was buried beneath one that read ‘Sixty Dead’?

Starscream’s optics were narrowed, his gaze sharp and hawkish as it raked over Windblade and left her shifting in her seat. “You’re making a considerable fuss over something that amounted to - what? A few ruptured fuel pumps and brain module glitches? You’re doing a poor job of arguing as to why I should give something so minor in the grand scheme of things the attention you think it deserves.”

Windblade’s temperamental flare was reflected in the cant of her wings and the rev of her turbines. “They’re your _citizens,_ Starscream! You have a duty to protect them, _care_ about them at the very least. It may be nothing more than a petty squabble to you, but to the people in the city? It’s their reality. And this shouldn’t be the norm.”

For a moment Starscream’s gaze fell on the report, and Windblade allowed herself to hope that perhaps Starscream would take her words to heart, would try to see such conflicts from the perspectives of those involved. 

But it was naive of her, really, and her hopes were dashed when Starscream’s answer was just as callous. 

“If those of us who stubbornly cling to the past, who refuse to let go of whatever loyalty they have to a brand and a bunch of empty promises want to wipe each other out, then so be it,” he said witheringly. “I have bigger matters to attend to. Ones that concern people who actually want to see our kind prosper.”

_You’re cruel,_ Windblade yearned to say, but she knew that such an accusation would be disregarded with a drawl of, _And what about it?_

“I do _sincerely_ apologize that the aftermath of our war isn’t to your liking.” Starscream’s tone was scathing, and in that moment the cityspeaker found herself without a voice. “But I don’t have all the answers like you seem to think I do.”

“I don’t,” Windblade asserted. She squared her shoulders, remembering a word of advice that Chromia had once passed on when Windblade’s posture had failed to bolster the power and eloquence of her words. “But you seem to expect that of yourself.”

Starscream scoffed. One of his talons scratched against the surface of the desk. “If you came here to play therapist then I’m going to save you the trouble and tell you to give up now.”

He plucked one of the datapads out of his considerable collection and swiveled his chair around with a sense of finality. “If that’s all the business you had, delegate, then we’re done here.”

She should have known that relying on Starscream’s kindness had been doomed from the start, but if she’d learned anything in her time working as a politician alongside him, it was how to sink to a level that resonated with him.

“The colonists aren’t happy about this either.”

Starscream’s back remained to her, but the chair tilted ever so slightly. “And?” was all he said.

“I was talking to Breakdown the other day,” Windblade continued. “He was telling me what the opinions among some of the Velocitronians are, with regards to the current state of things. And their sentiment matches what I’ve heard from my fellow Camiens. Public opinion isn’t in your favor, Starscream. _Especially_ among the neutrals. A lot of them see this surge of violence between Autobots and Decepticons as a sign that Cybertronians aren’t capable of moving past the war - that another one may even be inevitable.”

Windblade took a steadying in-vent before saying, “I don’t expect you to have a solution to everything. You’re just a fallible as the rest of us.” _More so,_ she knew many would amend, and she wouldn’t find herself disagreeing with such a statement. “And I understand that the war, and the pain and resentment that it bred can’t simply be forgotten overnight. But you have a duty to unite us, Starscream. As Cybertron’s representative you need to be an example for your people. That’s why I’ve come to ask that you try and do something about building bridges between them. Show them how to heal. If not to discourage senseless violence, then to prove yourself to the neutrals.” 

She spoke to the cunning tactician in him rather than the benevolent ruler that she had failed to will into existence. It must have gotten through somewhat, as he did turn enough to almost give her a view of his profile.

“Your concern has been noted,” Starscream conceded. “I will see what I can do to play nice with the Autobots and the NAILs. Happy?” 

“That’s about all I can ask for,” Windblade said, though his use of the epithet left something to be desired. 

“Who was it that you spoke to?” Starscream asked.

“Breakdown.” When Starscream didn’t acknowledge the name she sighed and elaborated, “Knock Out’s conjunx.” 

“Conjunx,” Starscream repeated. The word sounded almost flat on his tongue, devoid of the significance that it carried.

Windblade cleared her intake. “Yes, his conjunx. I thought you were aware that Knock Out had one? You must’ve seen him around here at some point. He usually escorts Knock Out home.” 

Starscream deigned to face her once more. There was a glimmer of recognition in his optics, but apart from that his expression remained unnervingly stoic. “Ah, yes. The large one. I’ve heard that Velocitronians don’t take too kindly to someone of his stature.” 

Windblade affixed Starscream with a glare. “I’m sure he faces enough discrimination without your input. I won’t try appealing to your humanity, Starscream, so I ask that you consider what insulting a diplomat’s conjunx will do for the stability of the council.” 

“It seems that you’re finally learning a thing or two,” Starscream said, provoking an irritated flick of Windblade’s wings. He almost looked impressed, given the knowing smirk that he offered her. But before he could agitate her further her dismissed her with a wave of his hand, saying, “You’ve made your point. Don’t bother me again before the Council meeting.” 

She made to leave perhaps a little too hastily - and she noted the satisfied look that he cast her way before he turned to face the window - but didn’t dwell on it. She opted instead to make a quick exit, and the sound of the door sliding shut behind her reverberated throughout what should have been an empty corridor at this hour. 

“I take it things went how they usually do?”  


Windblade startled at the sound of Chromia’s voice, prompting a laugh from her companion. 

“Relax, Windblade. I was just waiting to make sure you made it out of there alive. I swear it’s a gamble, every time you meet with Starscream alone.” 

“Thank you,” Windblade managed once the tumult of her spark had settled. “But I doubt he’d be reckless enough to pull something like that-” 

“More like stupid enough,” Chromia scoffed, “and I’ve learned by now that you can never put anything past him.” 

“-_Especially,_” Windblade continued, “considering the current state of things. The political climate is already hostile enough without a dead delegate on his hands. Starscream is many things, but stupid isn’t one of them.”  
Chromia’s gaze was as sharp as her words. “You almost sound like you’re complimenting him.”

“I’m not,” Windblade asserted. Her wings were held high and rigid as she began making her way down the corridor, her bodyguard following faithfully in her wake. “I was just making an observation.” 

“Noted,” Chromia said as she matched Windblade’s stride. “I guess you have a point. It’s not like we can afford to underestimate Starscream. Who knows what he’s plotting - right now, even.” 

Windblade sighed. Her wings relaxed slightly, more a sign of weariness than comfort. “Something to maintain his grip on power, I’m sure. If we’re lucky it’ll wind up benefitting Cybertron in the process.” She paused, her voice softening to a melancholic muse. “Things would be a lot easier if he just learned to trust and rely on others for once.” 

Chromia halted a few feet ahead and cast a wary glance over her shoulder. “Starscream trusting someone? I wouldn’t bet on it. Someone that paranoid would sooner die than open up to another person.” 

“You may be right,” Windblade murmured. “But that doesn’t mean we should give up. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s probably like the others. Stuck in his ways from the war. You’ve seen how the Cybertronian people are, Chromia.” 

“But they’re trying,” Chromia said. “Some are having a more difficult time than others. But they’re working towards it. Everyday, little by little.” 

Windblade cracked a hint of a smile. “So why can’t the same be said for Starscream?” 

Chromia held back a swear that would have been undignified to utter in the presence of a cityspeaker. “No wonder he’s afraid of you. You’re quite the manipulator yourself, when you want to be.” 

Windblade’s mouth opened then closed as if she had some sort of retort, but she settled for bitting her bottom lip instead. 

Chromia had an apology at the ready, a self-deprecating remark about her inability to not overstep boundaries. 

But then Windblade’s laughter carried as she continued onwards, bringing life - though feigned, Chromia couldn’t help but think - to the otherwise desolate corridor. 

“Unfortunately, he seems to have rubbed off on me a bit,” Windblade said with a glance backwards at her stationary companion and a smile that didn’t quite reach her optics. “We’re just lucky I can use that to help keep him in line.”

**______________________________**

“It wouldn’t hurt to be a little nicer, you know,” Bumblebee said, and Starscream swore that their conversations always began with some sort of admonishment from the life coach he never asked for. “Civil, at least. Poking fun at Knock Out’s conjunx won’t do anything to help relations with Velocitron. Or your image, which might I add isn’t in the best shape to begin with.” 

“I was simply making an observation. Really, it makes you wonder how someone as well-regarded as Knock Out wound up with someone who’s considered the dregs of society,” Starscream muttered, and the rest of Bumblebee’s moral tirade dulled to a faint buzz in his audials. 

That is until Bumblebee captured his interest once more with, “Even invited you to Maccadam’s once and yet you still-” 

Starscream held up a hand to silence that thought. Bumblebee scowled and his grip on his cane noticeably tightened, but he took the hint. 

“Repeat that.” 

Bumblebee was somehow incredulous, despite who he was dealing with. “You weren’t listening.” 

Starscream rolled his optics. “You were monologuing. It gets dull.” 

Bumblebee’s digit drummed against the handle of his cane. He looked to be toying with the idea of leaving - a dramatic exit out the door, perhaps, and Starscream found some twisted humor in his own hallucination melodramatically abandoning him - but instead seated himself opposite Starscream. He pinched his nasal ridge and uttered something; maybe a prayer for patience. 

“I was saying,” he began, his exasperation evident, “that you owe Breakdown a little more kindness. He invited you out for a drink with him and Knock Out at Maccadam’s once, remember?” 

Starscream blinked. “No-”  
“Of course not,” Bumblebee interrupted. “But he did. And you turned him down.” 

“I was busy,” Starscream snapped, vaguely recalling how Bumblebee had scolded him for his decision in that moment. “I’m always busy. In case you haven’t noticed, I have an entire planet to run. It doesn’t provide many opportunities for drinking with associates.” 

Bumblebee leaned back in his seat and glanced up at the ceiling as if it would grant him the perseverance to make it through this conversation. “I’m not saying that you have to accept every offer that comes your way. But I _am_ saying that you should treat those who extend kindness to you a little bit better. It wouldn’t hurt you to have friends, Starscream. And giving someone like Breakdown - or Windblade, or Ironhide, heck even Wheeljack. Giving them a chance is a good place to start.” 

“Friends,” Starscream echoed. “Bold of you to assume that I can afford to trust someone like that. Because the truth is, Bumblebee, _everyone_ does something with an agenda.” He spoke those words with a confidence born from having tread that path himself, and a flash of pointed teeth that would have intimidated lesser men. “Even this Breakdown that you’re so fond of. He was just trying to curry my favor. I’d bet you Knock Out talked him into it. He must have - he’s always looking for a way to gain an edge so he can save his own skin.” 

“Starscream,” Bumblebee interjected, cutting off what he could tell was already devolving into a paranoid rant, “is it really so hard for you to believe that someone just wanted to do something nice for you? The burden of leadership is a big one - believe me, I know. And it’s an even bigger one to carry on your own. So, please,” and he extended a hand, placing it over Starscream’s tangible one in a purely symbolic gesture, “try to give someone, _anyone_ a chance. You’re not doing yourself any favors by pushing everyone away.” 

Starscream stared at Bumblebee’s hand. His own felt achingly empty, the apparition providing not even the phantom sensation of being held. “A little cynicism would do you good, Bumblebee. It’s why I’m alive and you’re not.” 

“But I’m here, aren’t I?” Bumblebee challenged. “Which means that you find some value in what I have to say.” 

“I never asked for you to be here,” Starscream said. “And you’d save me a lot of grief if you weren’t. I have enough people looking for excuses to overthrow me without adding my mental health to the list.” 

Bumblebee leaned forward on the desk, resting his chin on his interlocked digits. His stare was calculating as he said, “I think you need me more than you’ll ever admit. Because the truth is, Starscream, you refuse to let anyone get close to you, but loneliness is like a poison. It’ll eat away at you and whether you realize it or not, I’m here to make sure that doesn’t happen. 

“You trusted someone once, remember?” Bumblebee murmured. The look in his optics turned surprisingly earnest; no hostility, bordering on empathetic. “It was a good step for you, Starscream. You should try to find that trust again.” 

Bumblebee disappeared before Starscream could respond, leaving Starscream to ponder over those parting words in silence.

**______________________________**

The noxious odor rising from the flask would have singed Wheeljack’s olfactory receptors, were he not shielded by the hood from the onslaught of fumes billowing forth. 

He waited with a patience born from experience and tempered in the lab for the reaction to run its course. The rather violent presence of the intermediary products did not bode too well for the outcome, but he waited regardless, watching as the plumes rising from the flask slowly began to dissipate as the reaction crept closer to equilibrium. 

His intense gaze betrayed how enraptured he was by it all, a twinkle of excitement remaining even with the prospect of failure looming. 

It ended rather unceremoniously, the last remnants of escaping gas giving way to a few bubbles that soon fizzled out, leaving nothing more than a peculiar green solution remaining. Wheeljack retrieved the flask - wincing as the acrid smell finally had a chance to assault him it its full glory - and set it down alongside a myriad of abandoned beakers and tubes that had once held a similar substance. 

He rolled his chair over to the board that was covered in a series of calculations and scrawled some notes at the end of the latest equation, punctuating the failed experiment with a drawing of a skull and crossbones. 

“Fourteenth time’s not the charm after all,” Wheeljack said as he surveyed his previous attempts, all of which had ended with a similar outcome. 

He checked his chronometer and, upon deciding that it was still a reasonable hour to be working in the lab, started to go over the next set of calculations in preparation for another attempt. 

The process of doing so was absorbing enough that he didn’t notice the door to his lab slide open, nor the subsequent hiss of it closing, until his visitor cleared their intake and spoke. 

“Wheeljack,” Starscream said. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” 

“Lord Starscream,” Wheeljack said, equally measured. He spared Starscream a brief glance, noting the way the Seeker stood just inside the entryway, hands clasped behind his back and wings held high, before focusing on the equation once more. “And to what do I owe the pleasure? I don’t recall you giving me any new projects to work on.” Not since Superion. And even then he’d only done so reluctantly. 

“What, am I not allowed to stop by for a visit without some ulterior motive?” Starscream replied, perhaps a little too defensively. 

Wheeljack raised a brow but didn’t comment on his snappish attitude. “S’just new, that’s all. You’ve never bothered stoppin’ by here before unless you needed somethin’.” 

“I was in the neighborhood, that’s all. Figured I’d stop by and say hello.” 

“In the neighborhood,” Wheeljack repeated with no shortage of skepticism. “Your office is on the other side of Iacon.” The nicer side, Wheeljack thought, though the reconstruction effort had made it so that the disparities present in the city pre-war were not quite so evident. 

Yet that still didn’t change the fact that his trek from his apartment to the lab each day took him through the largely Decepticon-occupied ghetto, where opinions of Starscream were none too kind. It wasn’t uncommon to hear whispers - or even shouts from rooftops, embellished with all kinds of colorful obscenities - of dissent. 

“Being the benevolent ruler that I am, I take it upon myself to visit subjects from all walks of life,” Starscream said smugly, though his words were as empty as any politician’s promises. “Not just counsellors and delegates who waste the day away _pontificating_.” 

“I was under the impression that that’s what politics is all about,” Wheeljack said. He observed as the acid slowly began to drip down into the basic solution, his keen eye awaiting the moment any observable change occurred. “Leadership not what you thought it’d be?” 

Starscream paused, as if carefully considering his words, and said, “It’s taken some...adjusting. I was a soldier for four million years, after all. But don’t think it isn’t anything that I can handle.” 

“Never said it wasn’t.”  


“Good. I get enough of that from the others.” 

Wheeljack didn’t bother to probe further. He had a feeling the ‘others’ that Starscream spoke of encapsulated just about the entire Cybertronian populace. 

“Well, I can’t say I’ll be very good company,” Wheeljack said. “Just workin’ on a little project of my own here.” 

“Chemistry?” Starscream asked as he examined the various apparatuses that housed compounds and mixtures yet to be disposed of. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a chemist. Engineering was more your expertise, was it not?” 

“Things have changed since the days before the war,” Wheeljack said. “We’re not so restricted in what we can do. Allows for someone like me to branch out and experiment. That’s what you were fightin’ for, wasn’t it? At least, what you were _supposed_ to be.” 

“The Decepticons lost their way a long time ago,” Starscream uttered with no shortage of bitterness. “You can thank Megatron for that.” 

“You’re quick to assign blame,” Wheeljack drawled. He began setting up a titration as he spoke, but he could picture the seething glare that Starscream must have regarded him with. “You must be pretty confident that you woulda been able to do things differently. But I’m sure you didn’t come here to talk about the past. So,” he said, braving a glance over his shoulder, “why are you really here?” 

Starscream’s wings twitched in what Wheeljack interpreted as annoyance. “I told you, I simply stopped by for a visit. Is it really so hard to believe that I wanted to check up on an old friend?” 

Friend. The word sounded almost unnatural coming from Starscream, a glyph that grated Wheeljack’s audials and dredged up an unpleasant memory. 

_Starscream thinks you’re his friend._

“What is it that you’re working on, anyways?” Starscream asked, effectively interrupting his recollection of that pitiful exchange with Windblade. 

“Something to overthrow the entire Cybertronian government,” Wheeljack replied dryly. 

“Very funny,” Starscream said. “As if you’d really want to undermine this peace that our people have worked so hard to achieve. That someone like Bumblebee died for.” 

Ouch. Wheeljack was grateful his face was mostly in obscurity, otherwise he may not have been able to hide the fact that Starscream hit a sore spot. 

“It’s a synthetic energon formula,” Wheeljack said. If Starscream noticed the slight stutter of a rebooted vocalizer, he didn’t comment. “The war didn’t exactly leave us with a lot of our natural resources left. ‘Specially now that we’ve got all these colonists returnin’, it’ll be difficult to sustain our population unless we do somethin’.” 

Starscream kept a respectful distance from Wheeljack’s setup, but his wings fluttered and perked as he observed the experiment. “I see. That’s...not a bad idea. And you’re doing this on your own? All in your free time?” 

“Yep. Just doin’ what I can for Cybertron. I’m not the best chemist, as you’ve already noticed. But with Percy and Brainstorm both gone, and with a lot of Cybertron’s brightest minds lost in the fighting, well...” He trailed off, and though his optics were hidden from Starscream’s view he figured the Seeker would recognize the way his doorwings angled downwards. “We’ve all gotta step up and work outside of our comfort zones.” 

“You’re... quite the altruist, aren’t you,” Starscream said as he seated himself at one of the vacant benches. Various pieces of glassware littered the surface in what Wheeljack would argue was organized chaos. “I’m sure many people would find that to be admirable.” 

Wheeljack hummed to himself as he continued working. “You one of them?”

“I didn’t know you sought my approval,” Starscream said with smirk. 

“Just figured you’d find it, I dunno, stupid or somethin’. Always took you as being more, uh, pragmatic.” Cold, ruthless, and above all self-serving, but he didn’t voice such thoughts aloud. “But I’d be a fool to argue against being in our dear leader’s good graces.” 

“Yes...” Starscream said, and Wheeljack figured it was more to himself than anything. 

He heard the sound of Starscream’s talons tapping restlessly against the countertop, and upon looking back at him saw that he appeared as if he were debating whether or not to say something. Starscream opened his mouth but promptly shut it, denying himself whatever remark he’d been about to make and instead leaving Wheeljack with a rather abrupt, “I should be going.” 

Wheeljack almost prompted him to say what was on his mind.

Starscream left as quietly as he’d come.

**______________________________**

“I’m proud of you,” Bumblebee said from where he sat on the edge of Starscream’s berth. His gaze was fond, his smile gentle, and Starscream turned on his side to face the wall so he wouldn’t have to see it. 

“I didn’t do it for your approval,” Starscream said. 

“No, but you did something good for yourself. And not at the expense of others, either. Trying to reconnect with Wheeljack was a step in the right direction. Who knows,” Bumblebee said with a warm chuckle, “befriending him might just be the sort of example that Windblade was asking you to set. Helping yourself and helping Cybertron don’t have to be mutually exclusive.” 

“You really think Wheeljack is the key to solving Cybertron’s problems?” Starscream asked as he clung to the last vestiges of wakefulness. 

Bumblebee shrugged. “I’m not saying you have to make him your conjunx or anything, but it’s a start.” 

“Conjunx, huh,” Starscream said as he offlined his optics. “I’ve been hearing that word a lot today. Maybe it’s a sign.” 

Bumblebee was left with a sense of foreboding at those ominous words before he disappeared in the haze of Starscream’s recharging mind.


	2. Chapter 2

Bumblebee made a habit of being there when Starscream woke up. 

He’d often seat himself in the cozy armchair that was positioned just beyond the foot of the berth, one which Starscream would often doze off in when an attempt at finishing up some reading would be thwarted by the relentless encroach of exhaustion. 

The plush cushioning was lost on Bumblebee’s ephemeral form, much to his dismay, but the chair still provided a nice view of the Seeker at rest.

It was shamefully indulgent to watch him so, Bumblebee was aware, but it was perhaps the only instance where Bumblebee had the privilege of seeing Starscream in a state not ravaged by paranoia or whatever plot he was concocting. 

It put him at ease, witnessing such a moment of vulnerability that no one else was privy to. But Bumblebee would never admit such a thing to the subject of his musings, should it sour their tenuous relationship that often survived on little more than moments of truce. 

Less selfishly, he hoped that starting the day off with a familiar face would bring Starscream a similar sense of calm. He did so with no grand gestures or sweet words murmured with the reverence of someone waking up next to their partner; though he was tempted at times, knowing that it would provoke a rather entertaining response, but perhaps Starscream’s affinity for self-preservation had rubbed off on him and kept his lips sealed. 

Not that Starscream typically interpreted the gesture as intended. He’d often regard Bumblebee with a scowl that seemed to say, _You’re still here?_ before trudging off in the direction of the washrack as if his morning routine were a funeral march. 

There was something almost ominous about the last conversation that Bumblebee and Starscream had shared. It had left Bumblebee with a sense of foreboding, as if it were the genesis of something profound that would shape their lives - or, whatever was left of Bumblebee’s - and those of their fellow Cybertronians.

But with daylight and the sense of sanity that it brought filtering through the curtains, Bumblebee now felt ridiculous for having found significance in what was, in the grand scheme of things, a rather innocuous exchange. 

There was no earth-shattering revelation or proclamation of ambitious intent as Starscream awoke. He stuck to what had become the status quo for him, taking several moments to muster up the energy to thrust off the covers and work the kinks out of his wings before finally getting out of bed. He did so with all the lethargy of someone who had aged beyond his years, and Bumblebee could never help but feel a twinge of sympathy for someone he had once thought was undeserving of such sentimentality.

Yet even with the normalcy of it all, Bumblebee still kept a close eye on Starscream as he followed him to the washrack, almost expecting there to be some sort of change in Starscream’s demeanor that would validate his premonition of sorts.

Starscream cast an irritated glance over his shoulder as he powered on the solvent spray. “What?”

Ah. Nothing unusual there. Bumblebee leaned back against the wall at a respectful distance. It was just a formality, more than anything - being spiritually bonded someone in a cruel twist of fate didn’t lend itself much to privacy - but there was still something surprisingly intimate about the act of bathing that kept him back.

“Nothing,” Bumblebee said, and he tried to keep his expression stoic as Starscream scrutinized him in that way that always made him feel as translucent as his physical form. “Rough time sleeping?”

“You should know,” Starscream said, giving Bumblebee one last knowing look before ducking his head back beneath the spray. 

“Guilty as charged,” Bumblebee admitted. He held up the hand that wasn’t gripping his cane in a pacifying gesture. “But it’s not like I have much else to do, or anywhere else I can go, or anyone to talk to. Besides,” he added, his lips curving into a smile in spite of himself, “you do make for a pretty picture.”

Starscream snorted, but there was no mistaking the way his wings flicked at the praise. “Flattery will get you everywhere. I’ve trained you well.”

Bumblebee ventured to take a step forward. “I’ve learned a thing or two in our time together. Can’t say I ever wanted this, but.” He shrugged. “I suppose there’s worse company I could be keeping.”

That managed to get a chuckle out of Starscream; unnerving as Bumblebee found that it was, coming from someone who seemed to only express joy in moments of personal gain or at the misfortune of others. “That was almost a compliment. You’re getting soft on me.”

“I’d say you’re wearing me down, more than anything,” Bumblebee said. He watched as Starscream scrubbed between his seams, leaving the inner layers of mesh and protoform as immaculate as his armor. At the very least Starscream always could be counted on when it came to vanity. 

Any other aspect of self-maintenance, well…

“You seemed happy when you got back last night,” Bumblebee said, opting to pivot away from that line of thinking - and from dwelling on the matter of when exactly he had started to take Starscream’s wellbeing into consideration. When Starscream shot him a dubious look, Bumblebee amended his statement. “Well, maybe not happy. But certainly more… more chipper than usual.”

Though Starscream turned away dismissively, Bumblebee continued to press the matter. “I really do think that being around Wheeljack was a good thing for you, Starscream. He just sort of has that effect on people. So I don’t think it would hurt to try connecting with him more. It would do you both some good, I’m sure.”

Starscream paused his scrubbing. “You make it sound as if this isn’t a one-sided affair. I’m not stupid, Bumblebee. I know that Wheeljack doesn’t exactly regard me as kindly as he did before he nearly died.”

Bumblebee’s brief silence must have been taken as acquiescence to Starscream’s cynicism, but when he spoke he remained defiant. 

“Maybe Wheeljack doesn’t quite trust you,” Bumblebee said, “but he did once, remember? Before anyone else even did. And if it’s the same Wheeljack that I always knew, then he’ll want to regain that trust. Because that’s the sort of person he is. And, to be perfectly honest with you? I bet he could use a friend right now just as much as you.”

Starscream’s head was tilted back, his optics closed as the solvent dripped along the contours of his face. He was quiet, perhaps considering what Bumblebee had proposed. 

The solution pooling at their feet did not stir as Bumblebee trod through it. “It’s just something to think about,” he said softly, and it dawned on him then just how forgotten by time Wheeljack must have felt in the aftermath of his accident.

“Making friends with an Autobot, huh,” Starscream mused.

When he did open his optics there was a glimmer of _something_ in his gaze. As Bumblebee found it trained on him, he couldn’t help but wonder if his inkling about that morning had carried in it a kernel of truth.

**______________________________**

Privacy was a concept so far removed from Wheeljack’s vernacular that it had gone from a luxury to something unsettling in its lack of familiarity. 

His days at the Academy had been characterized by a certain intimacy, one that came with living in close quarters with the same people that he spent he days working and studying alongside. Having a private life was more of an untenable goal than a realistic expectation when your peers were always aware of the company you kept in your quarters, and thin walls left very little to the imagination.

Wheeljack, having been neighbors with Ratchet, could certainly attest to that.

Wartime hadn’t even afforded them the privilege of separate rooms. Yet Wheeljack had learned to appreciate the way the Autobot bunkers had built a sense of unity, how the lack of walls and the synchrony of their lives had transformed them into a living, breathing, cohesive whole. It had always been a comfort -twisted as it was - to know that his own restless nights plagued by the lingering smell of gunpowder were shared by a dozen of his comrades at any given time. He had learned to rely on the fact that a midnight journey to the decks of whatever stronghold or warship he was stationed on would lead him to a companionable silence that could only be born from a shared trauma. 

Peacetime had yet to deliver that same solace. 

When Windblade had offered him the housing unit after his revival, Wheeljack had accepted it with some poor joke about not having had four walls to call his own in as many million years. 

Windblade’s laugh had been more pitying than anything, and she’d averted her gaze as she handed off the temporary code for the lock mechanism with all the guilt of someone who had not known that strife. 

He was reclined on his berth, one that felt far too spacious after having spent the majority of his life thus far on bunks that had offered no room for wings or spoilers or any extraneous bulk - or Autobots that carried the designation of Jetfire, for that matter. One hand propped up his head while the other was splayed across his abdomen. His insulation sheets were in a heap at the foot of his berth, and felt more superfluous than a necessity now that he had the opulence of a functioning heating system as opposed to the constant threat of theft in the dead of night.

A knock at the door interrupted his aimless musings. Wheeljack was tempted to ignore it, to pass it off as nothing more than one of Swindle’s cronies trying to pawn something off on him or an aspiring politician canvassing the area and delivering the same anti-Starscream sentiment that always seemed to be brewing in the outer boroughs of Iacon. 

But a second, more insistent knock got him to at least check his chrono, and the hour didn’t lend itself to anything but important matters. 

“Comin’,” he said, and his vocalizer still felt leaden with sleep despite the fact that he’d been staring at the ceiling for a good hour by this point.

His pace quickened when his visitor knocked a third time, but upon opening the door he almost wished he’d slowed down to a petty crawl.

“Starscream,” was his terse greeting. “Been seein’ you a lot lately, it feels like. Somethin’ the matter?”

“I’m not here on business, if that’s what you’re asking,” Starscream said. His ramrod posture looked more forced than dignified, and Wheeljack wondered if it was in response to his aloof attitude or his failure to use Starscream’s preferred title. 

“Lemme guess,” Wheeljack said, “you were just ‘in the neighborhood?’”

The corner of Starscream’s mouth twitched. “I was out for a walk.”

“I see,” Wheeljack said. He rubbed his chin, considering the way that Starscream, of all people, looked uncomfortable. The very scourge of the skies, perhaps the sharpest mind and deadliest weapon to have been at the Decepticons’ disposal, reduced to rocking on the balls of his feet at the base of Wheeljack’s steps. 

Wheeljack found the odd circumstances as amusing as they were baffling. Starscream appeared to be even more out of his element here than he was in Wheeljack’s lab. 

He considered inviting Starscream in, something that he once would have - and still did, to a certain extent - considered to be suicidal. But before he could extend the offer Starscream voiced one of his own.

“I’m not too familiar with this area,” Starscream said, and it must have killed him to admit any sort of gap in his knowledge, particularly regarding a part of his constituency. “Care to show me around?”

“Uh.” Wheeljack checked his chrono again. Not even half past five. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that Starscream would suffer from the same bouts of sleep deprivation that he did, and for a moment Wheeljack felt guilty for having assumed that someone of Starscream’s nature would be above that. “Sure. Why not. Not like I have any other plans at this time of day.”

And Starscream actually smiled at that. In spite of or because of the dryness to his remark, Wheeljack wasn’t sure, but he knew that trying to understand whatever was going through Starscream’s head at any time was an exercise in futility. 

But perhaps what struck him most was the way that Starscream’s frame relaxed at Wheeljack’s acceptance, as if he’d been anticipating a rejection and had prepared his response accordingly. 

Remarkable that his approval could have such an effect on someone who was often viewed as lacking in empathy or any other positive emotion, for that matter. 

As Wheeljack made his way down the steps Starscream looked to be measuring him up, but being the object of Starscream’s scrutiny suddenly felt less intimidating than it once had. 

“You have difficulty sleeping as well.” A statement, not a question, and Starscream nodded to himself without Wheeljack having to confirm his suspicions. 

“Mhm.” Wheeljack set them off down the road at a leisurely pace. Starscream being in an agreeable mood was an oddity worth observing, and Wheeljack felt less inclined to try and ditch the Seeker’s company as he had yesterday. “Can’t say I’m adjusting to this whole peacetime thing as smoothly as I’d like.”

“Or the whole ‘coming back from the dead’ thing?” Starscream asked, and there was something in his expression that suggested it was supposed to be a joke of sorts.

Wheeljack scratched his cheek. “Nope. Can’t say I am. Lotta things changed in the time I was out. Can’t say I was expecting you becomin’ emperor to be one of ‘em.”

“Hm,” was all Starscream said. Wheeljack figured Starscream was equally aware of how such a fact was perhaps the greatest point of tension in whatever relationship they’d built in the immediate aftermath of the war. 

“So,” Wheeljack said to break the uncomfortable silence that followed, “welcome to my little slice of Iacon, I guess.” The sweeping gesture he made wasn’t any more grand than the neighborhood around them warranted. “It’s, uh, not quite as nice as the city. But it’s the closest thing I got to a home.”

Starscream seemed to share his lack of enthusiasm as he surveyed their surroundings. The apartments that lined either side of the street weren’t as compact as those that were clustered in the livelier parts of the city, but they still had the same spartan sense of uniformity that felt claustrophobic, in a way. 

“Mostly former Autobots livin’ around here,” Wheeljack explained as they continued along the road. “Though we do get the occasional ‘Con. They seem to stick together, mostly. Keep their heads down like the ‘Bots are lookin’ for any excuse to come after ‘em.”

“And can you blame them?” Starscream challenged. 

Wheeljack wished that the question hadn’t made him hesitate before relenting with a, “No. No, I guess you can’t.”

Starscream at the very least had the decency not to look smug. 

“This, uh.” Wheeljack cleared his intake, acutely aware of Starscream’s optics on him. “This humble establishment is the only pub on this side of town. It’s… not much to look at, as you can see.”

“It’s a dump,” Starscream said after a fleeting moment of scrutiny for the dingy little building. The pub had very little to offer in terms of allure, just a neon sign that flickered from shoddy wiring when it was in use and a lone drunk propped up against the door.

“Odd,” Starscream said. “He looks familiar.”

Wheeljack quickened his pace, making it so that Starscream had to jog to keep up with him after a word of protest.

“An MTO actually owns the place,” Wheeljack said. “Built it up from the ground himself. Nice to see somethin’ like that, y’know? Someone finding their own purpose like that, when they were made for war.”

“Made to be expendable,” Starscream said sardonically, and there was a deep-rooted resentment evident there that piqued Wheeljack’s curiosity, but not enough to press the matter.

“Yeah.” He lowered his head as if his affiliation with the Autobots left him personally responsible for one of many stains on the epoch of their faction. “And certainly not all of ‘em are doin’ so well. Can’t blame ‘em when they were never intended to live to see peace like this.”

Starscream seemed to be considering his words, perhaps searching for some appropriate expression of solace, though Wheeljack knew better than to chalk that thought up to nothing more than wishful thinking. 

And Starscream delivered in a manner far more befitting Wheeljack’s expectations, saying, “They’ll learn. Just like the rest of us have had to. And then maybe they’ll aspire to something that could actually pass as a bar.”

It was as snarky as anything else that came out of the Seeker’s mouth, but Wheeljack couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah. The engex’s pretty crappy, too. But it’ll still beat driving back from Maccadam’s wasted.”

“I didn’t take you for the type,” Starscream said, and there was something almost charming about the way he studied Wheeljack with a wide-eyed innocence at the revelation that even an Autobot engineer was one for getting trashed at parties. 

Wheeljack shrugged and his finials flashed with a sheepish glow. “I know how to have a good time, believe it or not. I’m not as much of a shut-in as you seem to think I am.”

“Good to know,” Starscream said. There was something almost threatening to the statement - a gift of Starscream’s silver tongue - that made Wheeljack wonder if revealing such information would someday come back to haunt him.

Because it was Starscream. A healthy dose of paranoia was only natural, Wheeljack rationalized.  
They didn’t bother with smalltalk as they continued along past rows of apartments that were eerily quiet during that last hour before sunrise. They were alone for the most part, save for the occasional smoker savoring a cygar beneath a streetlight or a pair of mechs chatting quietly on the steps of their home; a pair that could be identified as Swindle and Onslaught once they’d gotten close enough, and Starscream refused to acknowledge them as they walked past.

Swindle apparently wasn’t bothered by Starscream’s standoffish behavior, and was only all-too-eager to holler after them.

“Nice goin’, ‘Screamer, you old spawn of a glitch!”

Starscream clenched his jaw but didn’t comment further. Wheeljack, after a moment of quiet confusion, decided to do the same.

“There’s a market here every week,” Wheeljack said as they passed through an empty lot that would provide ample space for vendors to peddle their various wares. “Get a lotta folks trading around spare parts, or even just the ones they can afford to part with. But it’s not all that depressing. One of those neutrals, Scalar? He’s got all sorts of stuff he picked up from Earth and other planets that he likes to sell.”

The thought of human culture didn’t appear to appeal to Starscream as much. “I see,” was his response, and though it was colored by a noticeable disdain Wheeljack supposed he could at least give Starscream credit for not adding any further commentary.

“That’s pretty much the neighborhood,” Wheeljack said. “Not that exciting but hey, we’re all tryin’ to make it our home. But there is one thing that it has over bein’ right in the big city.”

Wheeljack led Starscream down a path that branched from the main road. The buildings around them continued to thin out until they reached an empty plot of land that was like an oasis tucked away in the suburbs. 

When Starscream looked as if he were expecting something greater, Wheeljack approached the cliffside and gestured for him to follow.

“It’s a helluva view,” Wheeljack said as he took a seat on the edge, allowing his legs to dangle over the side.

Starscream hesitated before doing the same. “Seems precarious,” he commented, out of what Wheeljack charitably assumed was greater concern for his wellbeing than Starscream’s own.

“Lucky I’ve got a flier with me, then.” Wheeljack gave Starscream a sideways look. “Though I guess it comes down to whether I could trust him to catch me.” 

Starscream’s wings flared wide. “Of course you can.” 

There was a teasing glint in Wheeljack’s optic. “Just pushin’ your buttons a bit,” he said. “You make it fun, not gonna lie.” 

He was expecting some indignant retort - which would only serve to better prove his point - but Starscream was oddly quiet as he looked at the scene beyond and below them. The Manganese mountain range stood sentry at the end of a long expanse of desert, and the rising sun slowly crested the peaks as it began its ascent. Sheltered by the cliffside was one of the settlements that had become synonymous with former Decepticons, and there was a sense of stillness and peace about it in the waning moments before the bustle of daylight. 

“It’s beautiful.” Starscream murmured, and Wheeljack found himself focusing less on the view and more on the sight of Starscream enraptured by a Cybertron that had endured the horrors of war and been born anew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Swindle is alive and well. I don't have any excuse other than what's in the tags.
> 
> To the folks who had been reading the original version of this story: it's so nice to see you back and to have your support! And to new readers: welcome! I hope you enjoy what's to come.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Red for always letting me ramble to them about this story! And thank you to the folks that have continued to support it.

Wheeljack was expecting there to be some sort of catch to… whatever it was that he and Starscream had just shared. 

He was hesitant to think of it as an outing between friends, but making his way to the lab alone he couldn’t help but reflect on how oddly cordial the morning had been. He’d come to think of any interaction with Starscream as being an entire affair that would leave him exhausted, from sifting through the carefully constructed narrative that Starscream so effortlessly spun in order to get to the point, to trying to gauge what exactly Starscream wanted that only he could apparently provide.

Yet Starscream had parted ways with him without so much as a request or the insinuation of one to come, punctuating the rather uneventful time they’d had with a completely normal end; one that lacked any of Starscream’s usual theatrics or grandiosity, and Wheeljack had watched the Seeker leave with a lingering expectation that there would be a caveat. 

Starscream truly was an enigma to him, and Wheeljack couldn’t stop coming up with hypothetical motives even as he keyed in the code to his lab and began powering on the various pieces of equipment and machinery. 

Because with Starscream you couldn’t afford to not read between the lines. It was a pearl of wisdom that Wheeljack had picked up during his days as an Autobot and had had little reason to do away with. 

But he almost had. Wheeljack paused in the middle of retrieving his reagents, recalling those early post-war days where’d he gone so far as to give Starscream the benefit of the doubt - trust him, even, though nowadays he was reluctant to admit it. 

Starscream’s rise to power necessitated suspicion. Logic and experience both told him so, and yet his own cynicism still came with a guilt that made his doubts ring hollow to ears that were so inclined towards generosity. 

Scientists dedicated themselves to the pursuit of truth, and Starscream was a phenomenon that seemed determine to elude it. Wheeljack was regretfully intrigued, and the charitable part of him was optimistic enough to believe that Starscream was perhaps deserving of a second chance. 

“Get it together, Jackie,” he muttered, picturing the judgment he’d receive from Ratchet or Ironhide or Bumblebee.

Bumblebee. Suddenly he was acutely aware of just how empty the lab was, without even Starscream’s stilted attempts at conversation to keep him company.

**______________________________**

“You’re in my seat,” Starscream said in lieu of a greeting when he found Bumblebee already in his office. It was unusual for Bumblebee to materialize so quickly, let alone with the audacity to look so comfortable in Starscream’s chair. 

Bumblebee shifted his weight as if to swivel away from Starscream’s glare and face the much more palatable sights that were offered by the window that spanned the back wall of the room. Apparently his own incorporeality had slipped his mind, and he looked disappointed when his attempt at being blasé about Starscream’s attitude fell through.

“I imagine it’s quite comfortable,” Bumblebee said. He ran a hand along the fine leather of the armrest. “Wish I’d had the chance to enjoy it while I could.”

Starscream’s laughter was cruel and sharp. “I’ll give you the responsibility of all of Cybertron, then. A small price to pay, really.”

“Fair point,” Bumblebee conceded, and he just managed to narrowly avoid being sat on. He would have phased right through Starscream, of course, but it was the principle that mattered.

He took up his usual spot sitting opposite Starscream. Bumblebee leaned forwards, propping his chin up in his hands and examining Starscream with a level of scrutiny that made the Seeker want to shift in his (rightful) seat.

Starscream busied himself with one of his abundant datapads. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d formed something resembling an orderly stack. When it became clear Bumblebee wasn’t going to stop, Starscream prompted him with a terse, “What?”

“You’re pushing yourself,” Bumblebee said. When Starscream looked up, he was taken aback by the genuine concern in Bumblebee’s expression - the furrow of his brow, the curvature of his lips. “This is about the happiest I’ve seen you and you still look like you’re barely managing to drag yourself through the day.”

“Happy,” Starscream repeated dubiously. “What makes you say that?”

Bumblebee gestured to Starscream’s wings with his cane. “They say a lot more than you would ever willingly let on. You also said hello to Rattrap on the way in.”

Starscream snorted. “So I’m not allowed to be polite without you overanalyzing it?”

“I mean.” Bumblebee shrugged, not entirely apologetic. “Considering how you usually treat him, I’d say it’s worth noting. But if that’s not evidence enough for you then how about the fact that you were _humming_ on your way in-“

“What do you want?” Starscream asked, more accusatory than inquisitive. He slammed the datapad down on the desk to make a point, but Bumblebee wasn’t rattled. 

“I’m happy for you,” Bumblebee said calmly, and the sincerity in his smile made Starscream look away, as if his approval were something to be embarrassed about. To think that someone who so ruthlessly sought after validation would shy away from it. “Talking to Wheeljack has been good. But it just shows how much you’ve been neglecting yourself all around.”

Bumblebee perched himself on the edge of the desk. He would have lifted Starscream’s chin, had he been able to, but the Seeker was stubbornly avoiding what he saw as an incoming lecture. 

“You haven’t been fueling or recharging well lately, and it’s starting to show.” Bumblebee’s voice was gentle, and it managed to coax Starscream into meeting his gaze. “Your eyes have dulled. Your flight times haven’t been up to your usual standards, either. And,” he leaned forward to get a look at Starscream’s wing, “you’ve slipped up with your maintenance. Your ailerons could use a good cleaning.”

Starscream tucked his wings close against the back. It made him look small as he snapped, “Your concerns have been noted. Anything else?”

There was an unspoken threat there. Bumblebee chalked it down to force of habit, given that they were both perfectly aware he was powerless against an apparition, and decided to let it slide. “No. It’s just something I’d like for you to keep in mind.”

They lapsed into silence. Starscream made an attempt at appearing busy but Bumblebee could see the way he simply scrolled over the same paragraph over and over, clearly not having absorbed anything on the latest maintenance report for Metroplex. 

It was only a matter of time before Starscream finally caved and said what was on his mind. 

“Seekers are meant to trine.”

Bumblebee cocked his head. He looked at Starscream with a wide-eyed innocence that said he wasn’t going to be an all-knowing source of wisdom for once. “I can’t say I know too much about Seeker culture,” he said, and as opposed to a begrudging admittance that he lacked the knowledge he spoke with an eagerness to learn.

It was disgustingly endearing. Starscream would always detest the way Bumblebee’s mannerisms had a way of needling their way beneath his armor and seeping into the parts of himself that he most closely guarded.

“You haven’t talked about your trine much before,” Bumblebee continued. “But you seem to have a lot of history together.”

Starscream knew he was being prodded into speaking. He almost didn’t out of spite, but he held on to the vague hope that talking about what had been a sore subject might help to alleviate some of the burden of carrying it.

“We’d met before the war,” Starscream said. “Before I’d ever met Megatron - before he was even a so-called ‘revolutionary.’” 

He said the word with all the vehemence of someone who has been burned by the very concept. It was a personal pain, one that Starscream knew Bumblebee of all people would be able to pick up on. 

“Were you, um.” Bumblebee gestured vaguely as he searched for the right words. “Had you been trined before that, or did it happen sometime during the war?”

Starscream’s expression turned from nostalgic to something dark and cynical. “Why do you think Megatron was so keen to have us on his air force? Everyone knows that trines are more competent in combat and we just handed him one.”

Bumblebee opened his mouth with a more positive counterpoint at the ready but promptly shut it when he realized that would involve defending Megatron in front of someone all too familiar with his failures as a person. 

“I’m glad, though,” Bumblee murmured. 

“Does it make any difference to you?” Starscream said, and it was clear whatever window they had for civil conversation was starting to close.

“Yes,” Bumblebee insisted. His legs had been swaying freely from where they dangled (or would have, but technicalities) off the edge of the desk. They went still as his tone grew solemn in that way Starscream claimed it always did when he was about to say something ‘profound.’ “It means you got to do something so personal and intimate on your own accord, not to curry favor with someone who didn’t deserve that level of dedication.”

Starscream went quiet. He suddenly felt warm in his office, and crossed his legs to try and mitigate some of the odd discomfort he felt. 

Bumblebee chose to ignore the bluish tint that Starscream’s cheeks now had, instead asking, “Do you miss them?”

“Ok,” Starscream said with finality. “We’re done.”

“It’s ok to,” Bumblebee pressed. “After what you all went through together, and not having seen them-“

“We’re done,” Starscream repeated, and he did so in a manner that was enough to silence even Bumblebee. 

**______________________________**

Fortunately for Starscream, Bumblebee had taken the hint and made himself scarce for the remainder of what was nothing more than another sluggish day. 

Unfortunately, Starscream was loathe to admit that his office felt almost suffocatingly empty without their conversations or even the companionable silence that Bumblebee brought to fill the space.

A finger curled on the monkey’s paw when Starscream found himself graced - as his visitor would surely describe it - by company. 

There was a knock on the door, but he was not given the opportunity to so much as verbally grant his guest entry before Knock Out was striding in with all the pomp and authority that he was known to parade around with. 

Starscream’s lip curled in disgust at the display, one that felt like a casual means to undermine his position of power.

“Always good to see you too,” Knock Out drawled. He spoke in that smooth, lazy manner of his that told Starscream he wouldn’t be phased by any of his intimidation tactics. “Really, Starscream, I’d say that given our close working relationship you should drop the hostilities by now.”

“Why are you here, Knock Out?” Starscream cut right to the chase, avoiding the unnecessary pleasantries that would have served no purpose other than to stoke Knock Out’s ego. “If you’re hoping to get my vote on something you’d better talk fast and make it worth my while. I don’t have time to play games with you.”

“Oh, I’m sure you don’t,” Knock Out said with a wink.

Starscream’s posture went stiff. “What are you talking about?”

Knock Out was taking his sweet time sitting down, despite - or more likely because of - Starscream’s insistence that they keep this impromptu meeting brief. He leisurely strolled past a bookcase that was stocked with volumes of literature that had managed to survive the near-extinction of their species, running a finger along one of the shelves and examining it for dust. 

“You don’t have to be coy with me, Starscream,” Knock Out said. He brushed away the offending particles with a look that made Starscream uncomfortably aware of Bumblebee’s earlier assessment of his frame. “We’re colleagues now. Even, dare I say, _friends._ I’d hate for you to think that this relationship is strictly professional and that you can’t talk about your personal life with me.”

He had a way of making everything he said sound backhanded, and while it was a quality that Starscream would normally admire, he didn’t have that luxury when it was being used against him. 

“I have no idea what you’re going on about,” Starscream said after a steadying intake of air, “but I really don’t care. Go home and read those budget proposals that I know you haven’t finished going through yet.”

“Harsh,” Knock Out muttered, but there was an obvious guilt in the way he recoiled slightly at the accusation. “Is the thought of talking with me really so repulsive? You wound me.”

Knock Out placed a hand on his chest, feigning the heartbreak that would come with such a rejection. Starscream rolled his eyes at the display. 

Before Starscream could have the privilege of telling Knock Out to shove it, there was a knock on the frame of the open door. It was oddly delicate, given the size of the hand that had delivered it, and when Breakdown peered into Starscream’s office he looked apologetic - likely on behalf of his conjunx.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said. He offered Starscream a sheepish little wave. “I was just coming to collect Knock Out. Hope he hasn’t given ya too much trouble.”

“You should know to expect nothing less,” Knock Out said. He ambled his way over to Breakdown, wrapping his arms around his conjunx’s waist and standing on the tips of his feet in an attempt to steal a kiss. When Breakdown gently turned down the PDA, Knock Out settled for placing a kiss on Breakdown’s ample chest. 

Starscream could have gagged, were he feeling more childish, but he was too distracted by the way their easy affection reminded him of a time he still found himself mourning. 

There was another unspoken apology in the glance that Breakdown gave Starscream as he started to usher Knock Out through the door. “We’ll let you get back to your work. But just know that we’d love for the two of you to join us for dinner sometime. Offer’s always open.”  


They were gone before Starscream could inquire as to who this mysterious second person was. He looked around the room for the physical embodiment of Bumblebee, born anew after his untimely death. But all he saw was the usual specter offering him a sympathetic shrug.

**______________________________**

The ache that Starscream had been attempting to ignore since his earlier conversation with Bumblebee was frustratingly persistent. He eventually gave up on the notion of getting work done earlier than he usually would have called it quits - or at a reasonable time, as Bumblebee would call it. 

Cybertron was peaceful at night. Starscream never really had the opportunity to appreciate the sight of it on his typical flights home, given the single-mindedness that came with exhaustion. He tried not to think about Bumblebee’s remark about his flight times as he flew at a leisurely pace, taking in the scene of what looked on the surface to be a flourishing city. 

Metroplex and the surrounding settlements were ablaze with the neon lights of the bustling nightlife as well as the cozy glow of homes that were settling in for an evening fuel before recharge. 

The very thought of civilization surviving the war had seemed like nothing more than wishful thinking just a few years ago. Starscream couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride at what his people had managed to accomplish - with his guidance, of course, but in his more sentimental moments he felt the need to give all the credit where it was due. 

He landed on the balcony of his penthouse. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass doors before he opened them and chose to ignore the lines and darkened pigment beneath his optics. It was nothing a little recharge wouldn’t fix.

**______________________________**

Recharge, the absolute sadist, eluded him. 

To Starscream’s dismay, the ache did not. 

“Trouble sleeping?” Bumblebee asked from his usual seat. His faint form looked almost iridescent in the dim lighting of Starscream’s bedroom.

“Your powers of perception are incredible,” was Starscream’s snarky reply, as if he hadn’t spent the past hour tossing and turning fiddling with his insulation seats before ultimately discarding them unceremoniously on the floor in a crumpled heap. 

“If something’s on your mind, talking about it might help,” Bumblebee suggested, but Starscream wouldn’t be so easily swayed by the genuine concern in his gaze this time.

“I’d rather be alone right now,” Starscream said, even though he knew complete privacy was a privilege he had lost. 

“If you’re sure,” Bumblebee said, and he lingered for a moment as if he honestly expected Starscream to go back on his word before fading from sight. 

Starscream’s head thunk’d back against his pillow. He splayed a hand out over his cockpit, absentmindedly rubbing just above where his spark was doing a tumultuous dance in the confines of its chamber. The air felt warm despite having opened the balcony doors, and though the curtains billowed from a breeze it was one that offered him no respite. 

If he had to give the sensation a name, between the tightness in his chest and the heat that gathered between his thighs and only grew more insistent the longer it was ignored, he’d call it longing. 

Longing for the way that Skywarp’s lips would always trace along his wings and turbines with a playfulness from their youth that Skywarp had fought so long to hold on to. Longing for the sense of safety that came with being cradled in Thundercracker’s arms, the words of affirmation that would be whispered in his audial while fingers gently coaxed him towards an overload.

Starscream rolled over and stubbornly clutched at his pillow. The intensity of his frame’s demands in that moment served as an unwelcome reminder as to just how long he had been starved of intimate contact, to the point that even the chaste brush of his thigh against Wheeljack’s kept replaying in his mind.


	4. Chapter 4

The pounding on his door was as relentless as the beat of a war drum. Wheeljack was vaguely reminded of the many hangovers he’d nursed in his lifetime, and the accompanying headaches that had always made him question the life choices that had gotten him there. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d let go of his inhibitions and indulged in a night of reckless revelry. He didn’t find himself with many opportunities to do so anymore, what with all his friends being dead or gone. 

An unpleasant thought to have first thing in the morning. He was almost grateful for the distraction that was threatening to bust down the front door of his apartment. 

“Don't even think about ignoring me, Wheeljack!” 

Even muffled as it was, the voice was unmistakable. Wheeljack jolted upright with a speed he wouldn’t have bothered with before. Ratchet had an uncanny ability to inspire urgency in others, even without the threat of war breathing down their necks. 

“Hold your horses, Ratchet!” he hollered in an attempt to buy him some time from what sounded like an inevitable verbal lashing. 

Wheeljack tried to piece together what he’d done to possibly inspire Ratchet’s ire as he scrambled out of his berth, wrestled with the threadbare insulation sheets that had him shackled, and tripped over some pieces of scrap from his latest project. It was far from an efficient or elegant answer to the early morning call to arms. How quickly he had adjusted to the luxuries of post-war life. 

Perhaps even more puzzling was Ratchet being there at all, given the fact that he’d departed months ago along with Rodimus’ ragtag crew of misfits. Apparently Wheeljack’s actions had warranted a trip across the galaxy and back, all for the purpose of delivering an ass-kicking in that way only Ratchet could. 

He braced himself before opening the door. With the initial adrenaline-like surge starting to die down, his systems were lapsing back into their post-recharge sluggishness. Whatever Ratchet had come to confront him about, it would have to be dealt with through hazy optics and a dissonant vocalizer. 

“Came all this way just for me, huh? Guess I must be a pretty lucky guy,” Wheeljack said cheekily in lieu of a proper greeting. 

Ratchet’s arms were folded, his face fixed into his usual scowl as he stood there on the doorstep; but there was a struggle evident in the quivering corner of his lip, the clenching of his fingers. 

The sentimental part of him won, as it always did, and he pulled Wheeljack into a firm embrace. 

“Glad to see you’re still with us, kid,” Ratchet said. His voice was slightly muted where his face was buried in Wheeljack’s shoulder, but the unmistakable gruffness of it was like an old friend. “I heard about what happened while we were gone. Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

“Well, y’know.” Wheeljack shrugged to the best of his ability, but Ratchet’s grip was like a vice. “Never could stop myself from blowin’ things up.”

Ratchet pulled away with a sour look and opened his mouth to let loose what was surely a rebuke of Wheeljack’s flippant attitude towards his own near-death, but ultimately settled for a dry laugh instead. 

“Damn kids always think you’ll bounce back from anything,” he grumbled, but there was a glimmer of humor in his expression that offset the weary lines in his face. “Who put you back together, anyways? The best medics are all off-world.”

Wheeljack stepped aside so Ratchet could enter his home. He gestured to the couch, figuring it would be best for Ratchet to hear the details of his ‘resurrection’ sitting down.

Ratchet raised a brow but followed along. His joints groaned as he seated himself, echoing the strangled cry of the couch springs. 

“Flatline did a lot of the work, far as I know,” Wheeljack said as he plopped down in the armchair. 

Ratchet’s optics turned a paler shade of blue. “Well. I suppose it could be a lot worse. No problems? Nothing abnormal?”

Wheeljack gave his shoulders a good roll. “Everything seems in workin’ order. I’m tellin’ you, Ratchet, Decepticon medics are better than people give ‘em credit for.”

“Hm,” Ratchet muttered to himself. Wheeljack would have chalked it up to him being petty about his biases, but there was something unexpectedly melancholy in Ratchet’s expression. “Surprised they were able to get you to cryo in time. Someone here must really care about you, kid.”

“Yeah.” Wheeljack looked down where his hands were folded in his lap. He couldn’t recall exactly what had followed the incident, and there were merely bits and of pieces of lucidity from his recovery period that he couldn’t quite put together into a cohesive picture. “I got lucky. Sounds like Starscream really busted his aft, tryin’ to save mine.”

“Starscream,” Ratchet repeated, and suddenly he was back on the warpath, evidently upset by more than just Wheeljack’s brush with death. His optics glowed with the same fire and brimstone that had compelled him to nearly bust down Wheeljack’s door, and Wheeljack could do nothing but brace himself for an onslaught of finger wagging and chastisement that could make the most foul-mouthed miner blush. “Right. _Starscream._ I can’t believe I had to find out this way. Honestly, Wheeljack, were you just planning on hiding it from everyone? Even your friends?”

“Hiding it?” Wheeljack tilted his head. He must have looked comically confused, though he doubted Ratchet was in the right mindset for amusement. “Hiding what?”

“Don’t try to be _coy,_ you know what I mean,” Ratchet said and yep, there was that stern finger wag that never failed to make Wheeljack feel like a child scorned. “Your relationship with him.”

Wheeljack gave him a blank look. He wasn’t sure if he was being overly generous as he said, “My friendship with Starscream?” 

Ratchet snorted. “Oh, is _that_ what you kids are calling it nowadays.”

“You lost me,” Wheeljack said.

Apparently fed up with getting naive looks and non-answers in his interrogation, Ratchet opted to go for the most direct approach. He pulled out a datapad and slapped it down on the coffee table between them, rattling the empty glasses that Wheeljack hadn’t bothered to take to the sink.

It felt like an accusation. Wheeljack slid the datapad over towards him with a growing sense of trepidation. 

Yesterday evening’s issue of the _Iaconian Chronicle_ was displayed on the screen. Rather than a legitimate news story, however, it was opened to an article that could have easily jeopardized the journalistic integrity of the publication, were Cybertronians not so starved for gossip and the sense of normalcy that came with it. 

**______________________________**

“‘Star-crossed lovers: Burgeoning romance a sign of a thriving post-war society.’ Good god, who writes this crap?” 

Chromia tossed her datapad down on the kitchen table with visible disdain. She picked up her morning fuel and downed a gulp of it as if to wash down the bad taste the headline had left in her mouth.

Windblade looked up from the paperwork she’d been reviewing. It was unusual to see such theatrics from Chromia so early in the morning, a time when more often then not she only communicated in grunts and sighs until her energon kicked in. 

“I told you to stop reading those gossip columns,” Windblade admonished. She couldn’t help but smile to herself as she recalled Chromia’s visceral reaction to a ludicrous story about Optimus Prime’s supposedly intimate affairs with Earth. “Velocity had a point about your fuel pressure.”

“It’s the news, actually,” Chromia said. She folded her arms stubbornly across her chest and nodded in the direction of the offending news story. “Because apparently this is what counts as it, nowadays.”

Windblade’s brow creased. She set down her pen and brushed her own documents aside, curiosity sufficiently piqued. 

“No way,” she whispered. She mouthed the words to herself as she skimmed along the first paragraph, trying to make some sense of what looked to be someone’s cross-factional romance fantasy given credibility in print. 

“Didn’t take Wheeljack for the type,” Chromia said. She leaned back in her chair with a pensive look. “You think you know a guy.”

Windblade considered the few conversations she’d had with Wheeljack about Starscream and gave her own fuel a thoughtful sip.

**______________________________**

Their conversation on the clifftop could have easily been mistaken for a quiet moment between lovers. Seeing as the photo was taken from a completely outside viewer, Wheeljack tried to examine it from a similar lens. 

He and Starscream were seated side by side, close enough that his doorwings came into contact with Starscream’s ailerons. Wheeljack was also sitting with his legs casually spread, brushing his thigh up against Starscream’s. Their rendezvous was framed by the sun cresting the horizon, which cast an almost ethereal early morning glow over them. 

“Uh.” Wheeljack coughed. He averted his gaze from the photo, and how surprisingly intimate it looked from the perspective of the outsider that had caught them in the moment. “I didn’t think you were the kind of person to take these things seriously. Thought you hated gossip and tabloids and all that.”

“I do,” Ratchet barked. His lip curled in disgust at the very suggestion of him indulging in such a frivolous thing. “But Rodimus is the exact kind of person that this sort of thing appeals to and he was quick to tell me all about it.”

Wheeljack’s tank dropped as he tried to imagine what Rodimus would have to say about this apparent...scandal? Is that what his friends would think of it as? Regardless of how it would be labeled, though, Wheeljack could say with certainty that Rodimus’ commentary on the matter would have been colorful, given his antipathy to Starscream. 

“Guess it shouldn’t surprise me that you didn’t tell me about this,” Ratchet groused. He put on a show of being offended, but Wheeljack could see there was genuine hurt in the way he clenched and unclenched his jaw. “Didn’t even bother to let me know you were alive. What’s a relationship with _Starscream_ of all people.”

There was an obvious distaste in the way Ratchet spoke Starscream’s name. Wheeljack found himself more bothered by it than he would have expected, given his own mixed feelings on the individual in question. Ratchet’s judgment was suddenly less of a threat, now that he was actually faced with it, and more like a challenge.

“What, is that a problem? Me and Starscream?” He knew he sounded confrontational - hostile, even - but he would rather call it righteous indignation; over a completely hypothetical scenario, but details. “Kinda hypocritical for you to judge a former ‘Con, what with you being friends with Drift.”

“Drift is different,” Ratchet said tersely, and it was clear he wouldn’t accept any further discussion on the subject. Typical.

“I jus’...” Wheeljack rubbed a hand down his face. He suddenly felt as old as Ratchet’s joints sounded. “Look, Starscream ain’t perfect. Far from it. But c’mon, Ratch. It’s not really fair to look at someone and just let their past hold ‘em down. ‘Specially when you give the people you like a free pass.”

Ratchet didn’t have a rebuttal. They both knew that Wheeljack’s argument was a reasonable one, much as it surely pained Ratchet to sit back and accept his own culpability. 

He always had been hardheaded. Wheeljack was relieved that he could at least rely on that constant in his life. 

“Fine,” Ratchet yielded. “It’s your life, Wheeljack. You decide who you can and can’t trust. Just.” He stood, wincing as the mechanisms in his legs clicked back into their proper positioning. “Just do me one favor. Keep in touch, alright? I’m not asking a lot.”

Wheeljack offered a hand that was quickly batted away. “I’m sorry I didn’t before. Will you be around for a while, or are you jumpin’ straight back into your quest? Can’t imagine Rodimus will want to sit still for long.”

Ratchet’s gaze grew distant. “We’re sticking around for a bit. Things happened that I don’t really care to repeat right now. I’ll tell you sometime, but…”

“Hey.” Wheeljack pulled Ratchet into a brief parting embrace. “Don’t worry about it. Only when you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” Ratchet murmured. He allowed the hug to linger, as if he feared this might be the last one he and Wheeljack would share. “Take care of yourself, kid. You’ve got a lot of people who want to see you succeed.”

**______________________________**

“It must have been Knock Out.” 

Starscream was muttering his speculations to himself, but Bumblebee still chimed in, naturally. “You can’t say that for sure. Don’t get hasty and start throwing around accusations.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Starscream snapped, and it did nothing to soothe his irritation when Bumblebee gave him a skeptical look. “See, that’s exactly what he’d want me to do, and I refuse to give him that satisfaction.”

Bumblebee rested his chin on the crook of his cane. “I - what? Starscream, I think you’re being a little paranoid.”

Starscream gave a withering look that was enough to make even Bumblebee fall silent. “Knock Out is always trying to get some sort of leverage in the Council. He knows how to play this game and that’s what makes him more dangerous than the rest of them. It’s why Breakdown is trying to gain my favor, and why he wants to blackmail me. Getting upset with him would just be playing into his hand.”

“Oh please, Starscream,” Bumblebee said. It sounded less firm than he likely wanted it to, more of an entreaty than a demand for calm and rational thought. “Don’t you ever get tired of being so cynical? Knock Out and Breakdown aren’t out to get you. And, honestly? Anyone could have taken that photo.”

Starscream tilted his chair back. He worried his lip as he directed his gaze towards the ceiling. “But why? What would someone else have to gain from this?”

“Maybe they just needed some money,” Bumblebee said gently. “You know how it is. A lot of folks out there are still struggling to put fuel on the table. Maybe they just figured that selling this to the _Chronicle_ would help them scrape by. And it certainly gives people something less bleak to think about than what’s normally in the news.”

Bumblebee stood on his tiptoes so he could peer at the article over Starscream’s shoulder. “It is a cute photo,” he said with a smile. “Really does look like the two of you are on a date.”

Starscream’s chest felt tight as he watched the view and comment counter in the corner continue to tick upwards with each passing second. He forcefully pushed the datapad aside, but from the bluish tint of his cheeks it was obvious that the damage had already been done.

“That was private,” Starscream said. His cheek was warm where he propped it up against his hand. “If we wanted people to gawk at us then we would have given them an actual show.”

“I - well, I guess that’s one way to build bridges?” Bumblebee supplied, always diplomatic, but his expression seemed to dip a little more on the side of mortified as he thought about it more. 

Starscream snorted. “You sound like Windblade.”

Windblade. It was only a few days ago that she’d sat right across from him and begged her case about bettering relationships between the factions, and had preached to him about setting a good example for his constituents. 

He’d wanted to simply dismiss both her and her high horse, as he was inclined to do whenever the subject of the war came up, but the less prideful part of him knew that she had a point.

He braved a glance back down at the photo. It was a seemingly insurmountable task that she’d given him. Maybe it was the sort of situation that would call for unconventional plans and a little - a lot - of wishful thinking. 

**______________________________**

“Do I even need to guess what this is about?” 

Wheeljack closed the door behind him as he entered Starscream’s office. He tried to tune out the curious whispers that had stubbornly followed him through the halls of the council building, but they only grew in intensity as he sealed himself in with Starscream.

“So you’ve seen it, then,” Starscream said. He had his back turned to Wheeljack, and was focusing instead on the impressive view of Iacon that his window offered. 

“Yeah.” Wheeljack exhaled as he recalled the rude awakening he’d gotten that morning. “Ratchet filled me in. Thought he was just mad about the whole me not telling him I didn’t die thing, but then he sprang this on me.”

He wasn’t sure if he should take the open seat or just stand. He lingered in the middle of the room awkwardly.

“Look, Starscream.” He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet as he tried to calculate the best way to approach the matter. Starscream never had been easy to read, nor did Wheeljack take him for the kind of person to find humor in a misunderstanding like this. “I’m sorry if this, um, if this made you uncomfortable or if anyone has been weird to you about this. It’ll blow over in a few days, m’sure. Doubt anyone really believes it, anyways. It reads like those awful tabloids Windblade gets from Nautica on the _Lost Light_.”

“But what if they do?” Starscream said, and it was then that he finally turned to regard Wheeljack with an odd expression. 

He didn’t radiate his usual sense of confidence that Wheeljack couldn’t help but admire, and even looked almost unsure of himself. It was unnervingly unlike him, and more jarring to witness than the article itself.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Wheeljack said. Instinct told him to step forward and offer some sort of comforting gesture - a pat on the back or shoulder, a hug if he was feeling daring - but his legs felt leaden. “There’ll always be people who blindly believe in these sorts of things, sure, but they’re not worth-“

“That’s not what I meant,” Starscream said with a shake of his head. “I’m saying, what if we were to use this to our advantage?”

Wheeljack was grateful to his mask for hiding his stupid expression. “Wait, what? Why - how?”

Starscream leaned over his desk. He looked more in his element now, as he began to explain the plan that he had formulated. A true tactician.

“You know the NAILs are just waiting for us to start another civil war,” Starscream began. He pointed to a document on his desk that had compiled a list of concerns from those who identified as neutral, and it took only a cursory look to see that ‘factional disputes’ was chief among them. “We need a way to show them that we’ve put our factions behind us, that we’re capable of moving on. And we’ve just been handed an answer.”

Wheeljack considered the datapad that he’d stashed away in his sub space. He didn’t want to think about what had compelled him to bring it with him. 

“You think this whole…” He grimaced. “This us being ‘star-crossed lovers’ thing is the solution? Really?”

He’d used air quotes that would make Ratchet proud. Starscream, however, wasn’t deterred. 

“It’s a start,” Starscream said. “Think about it, Wheeljack. You’re one of the most well-liked Autobots around here. I’m the most high profile former-Decepticon left on Cybertron. If we can make people believe that we’re romantically involved, then at the very least it should buy us some PR points with the NAILs.”

Wheeljack scratched one of his finials. They had started to glow a shade of periwinkle blue, the same way they did whenever he was trying to piece a scientific puzzle together. 

“So you just want to…go along with the lie?”

“A white lie,” Starscream amended. “We didn’t start the rumor. We’d just be giving them more of what they already want.”

“Not to be, y’know, shrewd or nothin’.” Wheeljack cringed at his own choice of words. “But what exactly would I get out of playing along with this, uh, arrangement.”

The indignant part of him would be sufficiently appeased by the reaction it would garner from the Autobots. They would surely respond with thinly-veiled disapproval, if Ratchet was anything to go by, and Wheeljack couldn’t deny that there was something thrilling about the notion of spitting in the face of expectations, especially after the taste of it that he’d gotten that morning.

But he also couldn’t deny that his own trust in Starscream was still a matter of uncertainty. Intimately associating with him could potentially leave Wheeljack treading a dangerous line, all while juggling a niggling sense of guilt from his dishonesty. 

Starscream responded with a completely straight face. “To be doted upon by me.”

Wheeljack blinked. Somewhere in the universe, a pin dropped. 

“That was a joke,” Starscream said, to which Wheeljack had the courtesy to let out an awkward chuckle. “I’m the emperor, Wheeljack. I can get you whatever you want in return.”

“Huh,” Wheeljack said lamely, but it would take some time to think of an appropriate response given the grandiosity of what Starscream had just proposed; and in such a blasé matter that Wheeljack couldn’t help but think that Starscream actually held the whole world at his fingertips. “Guess I can work with that.”

“Good.” Starscream’s smile was calculating. No doubt he was already formulating ways to take advantage of this situation they were choosing to embrace. “And my advice, Wheeljack? As far as everyone knows, you’re now dating a politician. Being shrewd comes with the territory.”


End file.
